Two mentors have forced me, thankfully, to reconsider what the fuck I’m doing (or, really, not doing enough of).
I’ve officially lost it just enough to give the old book a shot, and I need to announce it to the world so that I don’t fall asleep on myself (and my word-riddled dreams).
I’d probably be much more successful if I could apply my need for control and general insanity to this blog, but the reality is that it’s one of the few corners of my life that has eclipsed those demons.
The pain felt when realizing someone only talks to you when they’re sad is quite specific. It comes on slowly, until, suddenly, you’re faced with weighty questions re: what is friendship, in the vein of Seneca (but with decidedly more estrogen).
I dare you to put your Netflix, Google deep diving, apps on apps on apps, etc. on the backburner and join me in getting as creatively weird as possible, off-screen, using the hands that your mommas and poppas so kindly gave you.
Head honcho Matt Zoller Seitz continues his reign over my brain/heart with some expertly crafted (natch) words of advice for us baby writers.
A recent episode of GIRLS got me thinking about the problem with relying too heavily on the Nora Ephron maxim “everything is copy” when we write.
“Your twenties are tough! You’re still growing into your disproportionate puppy paws, so you flail around, you stumble. You’re learning how to be a grown-up.”
“You have said that writing is a hostile act; I have always wanted to ask you why.” Dabbling in Queen Didion, as per usual.